


Waste of Tape

by kin_kun



Series: Waste [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Domestic Boyfriends, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Los Angeles, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Musician Otabek Altin, POV Otabek Altin, Painter Yuri Plisetsky, Post Waste of Paint's extras, Sequel, as of yet, set in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24952876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kin_kun/pseuds/kin_kun
Summary: "'So you bought enough food to feed me for a month.' It wasn’t a question. Yuri was handing him the facts. Otabek nodded with a hum. 'You got me a toothbrush.' Beka nodded again. 'How many condoms do you have here?' Otabek choked [...] Yuri licked his own lips.I know that look. You’re teasing me.The painter wrapped his arms around Otabek’s waist. 'Weren’t you the one who thought we’d break up in twenty minutes if we lived together?'"
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Series: Waste [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805764
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	Waste of Tape

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Anyone still here? Well, I missed my boys, so I thought I'd post these 7K words I wrote a year ago. This was meant to be the first chapter of a sequel for Waste of Paint, which is a fic I started writing back in 2018, but I guess it's fine to read this as a one-shot for now. I don't know if I'll ever get around to commiting to it, but I also don't wanna leave it on my Google Docs forever and just screaming on Twitter that I'm starving for content doesn't feel like enough anymore lol

* * *

Otabek was doomed to Los Angeles. 

It was hot, people had no boundaries, there were too many clubs and too many wannabe celebrities, Hollywood Boulevard was a royal scam and, sincerely, the Kazakh had thought he’d escaped it. 

“Enjoy while it lasts, Beks.” Leo started, sneaking a taste of his soda on the way home. “Soon enough you won’t be able to hide behind that hoodie anymore.”

“Are you trying to get me to breach our contract? ‘Cause I will.”

“Oh, come on. It would happen sooner or later.”

Beka furrowed his brows and scoffed. He hadn’t been born for the spotlight. On the contrary, he found comfort in safe harbors along the way. Even when he was still in college, there was a park in front of the Art Institute of California where there were tall trees that protected him from the sun— its blinding light, its unbearable warmth. There was the room he borrowed there to play the piano. He had always had a bedroom for himself, even at his childhood home, although, at times, it’d felt more like prison than safe-haven. He could hide inside of clothes, although Los Angeles’ hell temperature made it difficult. As much as he was toasting in his usual self-preserving black hoodie, it had been less than a week since he’d moved back and he was feeling as intimidated as he had the first time. He felt like he needed to wear it. 

“Not if I can help it.” Otabek retorted. “It’s in my contract: no interviews, no social media and no live shows.”

“You date a dude with half a million Insta followers.”

“And I still would if he had twenty million, but you have the same amount of subs and you can walk around freely. It’s not unavoidable.”

“That’s ‘cause I don’t show my face, just my mixes.” He paused for a second as they got in the elevator. “But that’s gonna change, bro. I’m gonna be latino Aoki.”

Beka huffed. “I’ll be rooting for you. If your heart is good and your intentions are pure, everything is possible.”

The man laughed. “Then I guess I’m screwed.”

* * *

Some things never really changed. Leo and Otabek were living across the hall from each other, in the apartments the recording company they worked for had assigned them. Tye Bradford's, the CEO's, was right next door from the Kazakh, so it went without saying that those were _some fancy company dorms_. Beka went straight to the American man’s house in order to help him and his once-again boyfriend set up a TV unit. Leo and Ji had broken up for a few months, but had recently gotten back together. Otabek was yet to notice any tension, though his friend had told him that there was, since they had been with other people while apart. At times, Beka scared himself with the thought of how much time had passed since his own relationship had started. It had been almost three years since he had, only God knew how, started dating Yuri Plistesky. They hadn’t broken up at all during that time, not even for a day, not even during a heated argument. Even after they had been long-distance for a year, they were still together and there wasn’t a sign of things going wrong. Nothing. That was scarier than anything else.

Otabek admittedly had a troubled mind. A mind that, admittedly, would not accept that he would end up okay. It kept waiting for the bang. It kept reminding him to be aware; something always came up. _Don’t be comfortable. Don’t take it for granted. Enjoy it while it lasts._ Because it was amazing. Being with Yura was this dream-like bliss, a Saturday afternoon, a fall breeze— it still felt unreal. It still felt like borrowed-time. 

Ji was already on one knee, in the middle of the living room, screwing the parts together. Everything was either wooden, white or green in their home. It looked pretty lively. Compared to that, Otabek lived in a cave. Ji liked taking care of plants, so they made up for most of the decoration. Leo was a sucker for electronics, so he had every device in existence, even a DVD player, despite how obsolete those things had become. Beka had bought an XBOX for himself, so that was something. A few years back, he would have never allowed himself the expense. 

Leo sat the drinks on the floor and Otabek did the same with the bags. Ji still loved burgers more than anyone else. 

“Are those hamburgers?!” He asked excitedly when he saw the In-N-Out logo. 

“Obviously.” Leo replied, giving him a kiss on the cheek and opening one of the bags. He took one of the burgers out. “Here, let me finish that for ya.” Leo made the trade for the screwdriver. He began doing same thing Ji had been doing, but with none of the class, and gave up halfway. 

The Chinese man laughed as he wiped the sauce off his lips. Beka chuckled. _What a klutz._

“I blame IKEA.” Leo stated. 

“Please, what’s IKEA got to do with this?.” Ji countered.

“I can’t believe you’re siding with IKEA over me.”

“It’s not their fault your parents thought Legos were too much work for you, _gege_.”

“As much as you’re right, I feel iffy blaming my parents...” Leo furrowed his brows and straightened his spine. “Then I blame capitalism!”

That was the way to finish any argument with Ji. The Chinese man nodded as he chewed in a hurry. No chances to speak against capitalism could be wasted. 

“Me too!” Ji exclaimed, offering his palm for a high-five with his boyfriend. 

“There’s barbecue sauce on your finger.” 

“Lick it off.” Ji commanded, taking the burger to his mouth with his other hand. 

Leo naturally did as he was told and he pretended to be grossed out when his boyfriend touched his cheek, but Ji only pinched it in return. 

“Bek will help me finish, right?” The Chinese man asked, his mouth covered with sauce for the tenth time. Otabek nodded, then Ji turned to his boyfriend again _._ “But _you’re_ cleaning up.” 

* * *

Yura had been busy since moving back to California. He was still living together with Mila, the only difference was that the redhead’s twin sister, Moira, had moved in with her after she came back from Europe and Yura left to Japan. They had found a bigger place, somewhere with four bedrooms, one of which the painter could turn into a studio, and a large living-room, where Mila could practice dancing or “do yoga or whatever”, like Yuri had said on the phone. Therefore, Otabek hadn’t seen his boyfriend much. It was okay, since they had spent months traveling and enjoying each other’s company. But, still, after a few days, a tiny hole in Beka’s chest began to form. He could feel the air coming in, making a soft humming sound, just telling him gently that there was something - _someone_ \- missing. _“You should take care of that”_ , it said, like a scratch on his throat before a cold. He guessed he’d developed mild separation anxiety after that year he’d spent alone. It was difficult to imagine a life just like that year. Somewhere, beyond that soft hum, like an ominous echo, the tick of a clock. Tik, tok.

_Bzz-bzz._

**> Yura.: **at ur door, lover boy

Otabek could _hear_ his texts.

“Gotta go, Yura’s here.” Otabek let his friends know instantly and tried not to rush too much while getting up.

“Invite him over for drinks later!” Ji exclaimed. 

“Okay.” Otabek said on his way to the door”

“..., he says, as he hopes his boyfriend won’t accept so that they can cuddle until morning.” Leo completed sarcastically. 

Otabek chuckled, but didn’t deny. When he opened the door to the hall, Yuri turned to him, cell phone still in his hands, in all-gray. His hair was in a ponytail, resting down his chest. Eyes the most hypnotizing shade of green since mythological times, his eyeliner as black as his pupils. They were back in Los Angeles. They were together. It was enough. It was everything. 

“If it isn’t the love of my life.” Beka breathed, as he walked over, grabbing both of the blonde’s cheeks to pull him to kiss. 

“I thought you were asleep or something, I was about to take off.” He said, putting his cellphone in his back-pocket, then touching Otabek’s cheek with his free hand. He had a couple of shopping bags hanging on his other wrist. “Hi.” He greeted with a smile. Otabek would kill for that smile. It made him breathe easier.

“Hi.” The Kazakh replied softly, grinning back.

“Are you letting the love of your life in or is he supposed pull your pants down right in this hallway?”

Beka didn’t even have the time to be embarrassed and slightly turned on before he heard the click from the door behind him and saw the two floating heads sticking out. Leo, the head above Ji’s, could barely keep his face straight. 

“Please, don’t, man. I’m not ready to replace Peach yet, he’s the one who screws in halls.”

Beka rolled his eyes and caught Yura’s both eyebrows raised in an expression that read “you call _that_ a reason?”, but looking down and finding Ji squinting his eyes was more interesting. 

“I _dare_ you.” The Chinese man’s head challenged. 

Otabek opened the door to his apartment before Yuri could take him up on that. Because he would. _Oh,_ he most definitely would. Still, it was funny to think that Leo hadn’t noticed that he was basically _dating_ Peach. 

* * *

“What was _that?”_ Yuri asked between quick kisses. 

Otabek felt a grin form on his face when he realized Yuri hadn’t been a part of the dynamics since he’d gone to Japan, so, even though he’d already seen Beka’s friends again, when they went to pick him up at the airport, it had to be new to him that Leo hadn’t grown up a day and that Ji wasn’t the shy boy he appeared to be. 

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

The blonde chuckled. “Sure does.” He agreed. “Seems like you won’t have a minute of peace here either.” Yura’s expression softened, as he caressed the Kazakh’s hair gently. “Good. It’s better than you being alone, _alone.”_

“There goes my try at independence.”

Yura shot him a _tsk_ and stepped out of the tight space where he was being squeezed between his boyfriend and the front door. “Your _try?_ Beka, you’ve been on your own since goddamn puberty.” He stated assertively as Otabek watched his back, his pony-tail dancing delicately as Yura scanned the new place. “Woah, all the wall-painting is finished!” The painter left his bags on the kitchen counter. “I fucking live for the shades of gray you have here. It’s like you splashed your mind on the walls.” The blonde turned around, a bright smile appearing on his face. “It makes it comfy, doesn’t it? Like you’re walking inside your brain.”

Otabek gazed at him shamelessly and lovingly, picturing the spark on his own eyes, because he could see it there. The light in front of him. His sun. _I really did miss you here. Missed you a lot._ He allowed himself to chuckle. 

Yura furrowed his brows and giggled. “What?”

Beka tried to find words that would sound _any_ less corny, but, at the end, that was how he felt. He felt corny as fuck for the man. The Kazakh started to walk over. 

“Nothing, it’s just— you’re literally the only person who would come in here and say that.” Beka just stood next to him, staring ahead, counting on his fingers. “Which makes this the…” He closed one of his eyes as he pretended to do the math. “Like, 397th time I’ve fallen for you?”

Yuri burst into laughter. It was still a sound that made Otabek’s heart skip 397 beats. The blonde bumped his boyfriend’s shoulder. “You’re really going for the Sap of the Year award, aren't ya?” Then, hugged Beka’s arm and rested his forehead on the Kazakh’s shoulder. 

Otabek turned his head to kiss the top of the painter’s head. “Now that Viktor isn’t here, I might have a shot.” Beka humoured. 

The Kazakh could feel Yuri smile against his shoulder, then the peck of his lips on his sleeve. “Well…” The blonde started, sliding his hands down Otabek’s arm, letting their hands touch for a moment before turning around and making his way back to the kitchen counter. “Since every fucking miserable soul on Earth agrees odd numbers are kind of annoying, _I,_ Mr. Altin, will help you even that out.”

Beka raised an eyebrow at him. “Real bold of you, Mr. Plisetsky.”

He smirked, picking up the bags he had left on the counter again. “I like a challenge.” Yura stated as he made his way back to his boyfriend.

“Baby, that’s hardly a challenge.”

“That one just got you five more sap-points, but come here a sec.” The blonde walked past Otabek and sat down by the coffee table, leaving the bags on the carpet. 

Otabek sat next to him and the blonde started pulling out what he’d brought: first, black frames. _1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7._

“Before you say anything, I got these for free.” He clarified, knowing Beka’s awkwardness when it came to gifts, especially random ones. He pulled out envelopes from the other bag. “These are from Society6, so the artist is making his coin anyway. They just send me whatever I want now that I let them sell my shit.” Yura had to drag the envelopes so that they were right in front of Otabek for him to have the face to open them. 

In the first one, there was a small note in the bottom right corner that read “Huwon Secret Garden”. The view was in black and white, but Otabek realized it was the garden in Seoul he had heard about from Seunggil, the one in an ancient royal palace, where the same trees had been for hundreds of years. 

“Is this a picture?” Beka had to ask due to the incredible clarity of it, even though it wasn’t in color. 

Yuri tightened his lips and shook his head proudly. “It’s hyper-realism. This Czech guy, Emil, goes around the world picking places to sit for half a day and draw by pencil without a care in the world.”

Happiness came in bits and pieces. Otabek understood that the universe didn’t owe him a thing. He understood that it wasn’t unfair that he wasn’t happy, per se. Happiness was the feeling that washed over even his _okay_ ness, when he caught on what Yura had done for him. As he took the pieces out of the envelopes, the logic was clear. One for every country of which Otabek spoke the language. All seven of them. Happiness came in gratitude sometimes. _398._

“ _Wow.”_ Otabek managed to voice. He didn’t really know how to react.

“You like ‘em?”

Beka huffed. “I love ‘em.” He made the effort to look at his boyfriend and Yura’s eyes were sparkling. “Thank you.”

The painter showed a bright smile and moved to organize the frames. “Which one do you want to frame first?”

Otabek didn’t have to think too long. He handed the blonde the one of the Hollywood Sign. Yura smirked, but didn’t say a word. He went on to arrange them. 

“Where should we place them?” The Kazakh asked, picking one to arrange himself. 

“You place, your call, babe.” 

“You know I have no sense of decor, Yura.”

The blonde chuckled. “I can’t argue with that.” He finished another one. “You are the one who will be here all day everyday, where do you wanna see them?”

Somehow, it didn’t help. Otabek shrugged. All he did was turn around and notice the black wall behind the couch. “Maybe…” He waited for Yuri to look at him and pointed at it. “Over there?”

“Awesome.” He agreed. “Let’s mark exactly where they’ll go before putting them up.”

Otabek was confused again. He had absolutely no idea. The Kazakh felt himself frown. “Like in a line?”

“I was thinking more like a pattern?”

Beka let his neck go and dropped his head to the side, defeated. He closed his eyes and whined. Next thing he felt was Yura pinching his cheeks, then the blonde squeezed them tightly.

“I’ve got you.” The painter said with a pout, as though speaking to a child. He was still turning Otabek’s lips into the shape of a fish’s, but gave them a light and loud kiss anyway. “Cutie.” He breathed to himself as he let go of Beka’s cheeks. 

_Yura, if you think you’re just going back to wall-art after this…_

“Hey.” Otabek voiced. 

“Mm?”

The Kazakh smirked. “Are you in a hurry?”

Yura instantly caught on, his eyebrow instantly raising itself up. “Depends. For what?”

Beka gestured at the frames on the table with a tilt of the chin. Yura, slowly, untied his hair and shook his head slightly to loosen the locks. 

“That… can wait.” He said, reaching for the side of Otabek’s neck and locking their lips together. 

The years passed and nothing changed. Beka still felt like he was touching a hidden treasure, one he had sailed across oceans to find— and almost hadn’t, if one tiny thing had gone wrong, he wouldn’t have. If one tiny thing went wrong in the future, he could still lose it. Nothing was ever certain. He was always glad that he got to kiss Yura again. The Kazakh touched the blonde’s cheek, then kept going until it reached the painter’s hair. As much as Yura wanted it, Beka knew no other way to touch it - _him -_ other than gently. 

* * *

“Wait, I brought you something else.” The painter breathed, reluctant himself to break their kiss. Otabek forced his eyes to open despite the haze. Yura pulled something out of his pocket. A key. The Kazakh grinned instantly, bewildered by the idea of getting one of those from Yuri Plisetsy a _second_ time. The blonde sat up from where he rested his cheek on the couch and smacked the key on the coffee table loudly, like a poker chip. “399.” He said with a quick lift of his eyebrows. 

Otabek had to huff as he smiled. He leaned over the table to grab it, turning it around, watching the silver reflect the light. As much as the Kazakh was melting on the inside, he’d hardly use it. 

“No need to pout, Beka, it’s only symbolic.” Yuri told him. _When did I become so easy to read?_ “I know you won’t come over as much now that there’s so many people coming in and outta there.” 

_Why are_ you _pouting, then?_

Otabek adjusted himself to support his back on the couch. Yuri had loosely folded his arms. If he were being honest, the Kazakh was slightly amused. It was good to know that he was still welcome over, if it were up to Yuri anyway - and that was all that mattered. Beka ran the tip of the key up the painter’s folded arm delicately. Yura looked at him from the side of his eye. 

“Four hundred.” Otabek murmured, gazing at the blonde.

Yuri rolled his eyes. “I didn’t even do anything.”

“You’re bothered I won’t be coming over as often.”

The painter scoffed. _Yes, extremely amusing._ Yura was the same as always, he only needed an opening, and Otabek gladly gave it to him, just to see whatever would come out of his mouth, every microexpression on his face. 

“Cut the crap, Beka, it’s not the same as ‘coming over’ when you were _living_ with me before.” The Kazakh was the one to roll his eyes with a _tsk._ “Just accept it already. It’s not like we’ll be living together anymore. Problem solved.”

“There was never a problem.” Beka started, using the key to poke Yura’s cheek. “Because we _weren’t.”_ He teased.

Yuri _woo_ shed his boyfriend’s hand away. _At least he unfolded his arms, that’s a win for me._

“Argh. Fuck you, Altin, and all the money you wasted splitting rent with De La Iglesia on a house you barely used as storage.” Yuri scowled. Beka only lifted his eyebrows unfazed. “And you know what else?!”

Beka smiled. “What else?”

Yuri squinted his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.”

The Kazakh shrugged, noticing the smug on his own face. “Like what?”

The painted scoffed. “Never-fucking-mind. Let’s just put the stupid pictures up.”

_Okay, I’m done with the teasing._ Beka held Yuri’s arm when he tried to get up from beside him. “Yura~, I wanna know what else.” 

“Whatever.”

“Baby~” He whined, not letting go. “Stay, tell me what you were gonna say.”

He heard a loud _hmpf_ coming from Yuri, who suddenly turned around. “Why do you hate the idea of living with me _so much?!_ You used to spend most of your time at my place, that’s a fact— I know I didn’t care, I actually kinda liked it, so what the fuck is _so wrong_ with it?! From what I remember, we got along fucking _peachy—_ What? Did I annoy you _so_ _much_ that you can’t even admit—“

Surprised - and moved - by seeing exactly how upset his boyfriend was about it, Otabek interrupted him by suddenly plunging forward to plant a kiss on Yura’s cheekbone. The blonde went quiet instantly. There was a pleasant warmth in the few seconds they spent in silence, Beka slowly pulling away, like his lips were being pulled to the painter’s skin and he had to make an effort, do it slowly, just move to kiss Yura’s shoulder and rest his chin on it, finding his boyfriend’s green eyes. “Nothing wrong with it.” He muttered. “Nothing at all.”

Yuri turned away, looking down. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

Otabek felt his own lips curl up. He reached for the blonde’s chin to turn his head again. “I didn’t realize it made you this upset, I’m sorry.” The Kazakh told his boyfriend, gazing lovingly at his profile. He stroked Yura’s jawline with his thumb. “Mm? Forgive me?”

Yura took Otabek’s hand away from his chin, but kept their fingers intertwined loosely, staring at them to avoid eye contact. “What’s with you…” He started with a small voice, trying to feign amusement that clearly wasn’t there. “There’s nothing to forgive; if you didn’t like it, you didn’t like it…”

It was rare to find Yuri in one of those moods, which made the tug at Otabek’s heart that much stronger. Honestly, Beka would just give him whatever he wanted to make him feel better. He’d do whatever. Yura wasn’t that kind of person, but Otabek would be easy to take advantage of. Something his last boyfriend knew exactly how to do. If Yura asked him to go with him, take the side next to him on his bed, in his apartment, with Moira, Mila, their boyfriends, right then, he would. 

Otabek switched to sit on the coffee table, taking the drawings he’d been given out of the way, to be in front of Yuri. He took the blonde’s hand in his.

“I was the one who went to you.”

The painter looked up, confused. “What?”

“Back then, I was the one who left my house to go to yours.”

Yuri chuckled, his look already changing from being sad to thinking his boyfriend was, well, pretty weird. “Yeah?”

“I liked it.” He stated. “We really did get along… ‘ _peachy’._ Fantastic. You had good snacks. Good music. The fact that you were there also helped.” Beka chuckled himself. “You’ve never annoyed me. I can’t remember one time I thought you were annoying since I’ve known you, hence, yeah, I was there whenever I could. If I’d been able to be there with you, always, I probably would have.”

Yura listened attentively as Otabek talked. It was a characteristic that had always fascinated him. People thought Yuri was loud, most likely the kind of person who talked over others, but that was so far from the truth that it was a privilege to be a witness. Yura was a great, _great_ listener. He was the only type of person that a bad talker like Otabek would always want to talk to. 

“But I still have some pride in me, so there are things I would hope to keep to myself.”

“We’ve been together all this time… what’s there to hide anymore?”

“Not _hide_ , baby, just avoid. You’ve seen me on my bad days, but I have worse days than my bad days. I have some impossible days. Days I can’t, for the life of me, see what’s right in front of my face.” The Kazakh confessed, already worrying if he was being dramatic, or manipulative, or seeking attention. Nevertheless, he tucked Yura’s hair behind his ear. “I’m afraid not even you, as brilliant as you are, I’d be able to see on my impossible days… So I’d hope to be somewhere else for those. Am I making sense?”

The next thing that Otabek loved most about Yura was that he actively _tried_ to understand. There were feelings they’d never be able to convey to each other, but Beka had been around Yuri long enough to _see_ in his eyes the process of him trying to find something in his own life to use to sympathize, something that he’d felt at any point to have, at least, some notion. He never looked away as he was thinking. Instead, it felt like he looked even deeper into the Kazakh. Then, the painter grinned. 

“I’d forgotten.” He said, as the grin turned into a smile, then a giggle. “Wow, I had really forgotten.”

Beka only furrowed his brows to question.

Yuri chuckled again, holding onto his boyfriend’s leg, resting his chin on the Kazakh’s thigh and looking up at him. 

“I’d forgotten what it was like to not feel safe around you.” 

_So those were your impossible days._ Otabek ran his fingers through the painter’s hair, remembering the times when he was not allowed to. Yuri smiled at him and stretched his arm up to touch the Kazakh’s cheek. He couldn’t reach at first, so Beka leaned down into his touch. His Yura looked like a little kid. 

“Mark my words.” The blonde started. His tone was already different. He was still quiet, but the assertiveness in his voice had returned. “Someday, you’ll be the one to forget what it was like to be scared to show me everything.” Yuri stated. Beka’s heartbeat picked up. “I promise I’ll do it for you. There’s going to be one person in this world who will see you on your impossible days and who will forgive you for not seeing them.” _How did you turn this around so I am the one whose tears are threatening to escape?_ “It’ll be me, Altin. If three years weren’t enough, then five. Or ten. Or forty. But I’ll be damned if I don’t make it happen in this lifetime.”

People thought Yuri was rude. Tough. Not sensitive enough, not caring enough. Otabek doubted anyone would be able to imagine Yuri saying “I love you” or “I’m sorry”, but, again, they were so wrong. He said it. And he did it with such honesty that each word was powerful enough to shatter the Earth, let alone Otabek’s heart. Completely exposed. The Kazakh swallowed, not being able to move. As always, having a hard time believing for absolutely no reason, but feeling grateful in ways that he had no words to express, that made his brain freeze because such words supposedly weren’t meant for someone like him. He turned his head to kiss the blinde’s palm, closing his eyes, the faint smell of paint making way through his nostrils into his very core. _“Or forty.”_ He felt Yuri nudging his cheek against his thigh. Otabek spontaneously laughed softly, thinking about how wild it was that he had someone that special showing him an overwhelming range of emotions in a matter of minutes. He ruffled Yura’s hair and the painter scrunched his nose. 

“You know, you’re making it really difficult for me not to kiss you _all_ the time.” Otabek said lightly, despite having a whole whirlwind of feelings causing a ruckus in his heart. 

Yura instantly sat up, bending his neck back, looking at Otabek through half-lids. Beka never let go of his hair, stroking in backwards. 

“First lesson in freedom, Beka,” Yura started. “Just kiss me whenever you want.”

Otabek was just in love with his voice. It was hypnotizing. He felt an urge to follow whatever it said. The Kazakh got his other hand on his boyfriend’s hair, fingers nicely tucked in it, casually running them through the golden strands, feeling their softness. Yura looked at him as though he was expecting something. Otabek met his eyes, then stared down at his lips, bewitched by the gap in between them, as he’d always been since he’d first seen how Yura’s slightly parted his lips as he waited for an answer or to be kissed. It was strange how they had been making out just a while earlier, but the atmosphere was completely different. Beka felt cautious, leaning in slowly, like he was pushing through heat waves. His hands moved from Yuri’s hair to his jaw, keeping him in place, stroking the skin with his thumbs. He nudged the tip of his nose against the side of Yuri’s before a second of being overly aware of their breathing or lack thereof, then he locked their lips. 

Otabek felt Yuri wrap his hands around his wrists for balance, stretching his neck to deepen their kiss. Even when Otabek reached back, sticking his fingers in Yuri’s hair from his neck, the blonde did not let go. On the other side, his hand only ran up the Kazakh’s arm, stopping at his biceps. He felt Yuri’s nails digging into him through his shirt, then didn’t hold back the urge to bite and pull the painter’s bottom lip, which made them both open their eyes at the same time and stare hazily at each other through dilated pupils. Beka reached down for Yuri’s back to help him get up just enough to guide him to sit on the couch, then he remembered that Yuri had been bending his neck for far too long and tightened the hold around the blonde’s waist to lay him down after placing a cushion under his head. Yuri quickly adjusted, one knee on each side of the Kazakh, pressuring his sides, his hands lurking under Otabek’s shirt. 

“Nice couch.” Yuri pointed, biting his own lip. 

“You think? I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“Well, it doesn’t creak.” 

Beka smirked. “Right, it does not.”

Then, the blonde crossed his legs around the Kazakh’s back, pressing him down. “Mm, this might handle our weight just fine.” He threw his arms around Otabek’s neck. “But can it handle you fucking me the way I want?”

Otabek, supporting himself on his arm, ghosted his lips over Yuri’s. “How do you want it?”

“Hard.” He breathed into Beka’s lips. “Fast.” He kissed him again, wet and careless. “How _you_ want to fuck me. No more holding back.”

Beka grinned and reached back to take one of Yura’s hands, intertwining their fingers and pinning them over the blonde’s head. He nibbled his boyfriend’s ear and left a trail of kisses down to his neck. “I wanna do it slow.” He whispered, knowing just how impatient Yuri was. The blonde moaned when he ground on him. “May I?”

Yura’s breathing was becoming erratic. “Do whatever you want.” 

“Whatever I want?” Otabek asked, stroking Yuri’s pierced nipple through his shirt with his free hand. He felt the grasp of the one that he was holding tighten. The painter found Otabek’s eyes.

“It’s _you_ , I don’t care.”

_That’s not true, you’ve always been bossy in bed._

“Won’t you rush me?”

“I won’t.”

“Why?”

“Second lesson in freedom.”

“What about your freedom?”

“You touching me is my freedom.”

Otabek remembered, not that long ago, Yuri’s expression of absolute horror for having his face touched by the Kazakh in the morning after their first kiss. Beka remembered, vividly, how Yura had struggled to work through his trauma. Beka would never forget the day when Yuri allowed him to feel the warmth on his cheeks. Subconsciously, Otabek did the same thing as he searched for words at that moment. “Yura…” He breathed. “My Yura,”

“Yeah?” The painters showed a mischievous smile, satisfied with the way he had been called. 

It still puzzled Otabek how one person, who had been born only once, had turned out to be that stunning. The Kazakh felt the corner of his own lips curl, admiring every inch of his boyfriend’s face. “Just what are you trying to do to me?” 

“Was I not clear?” Yuri turned them over, his legs on each side of Otabek’s waist. He cupped his boyfriend’s chin. “I’m gonna fucking expose you, Altin. I will strip you bare. No one on this goddamn planet is going to know you like I will.” He lifted an eyebrow and smirked. “Scared?”

“Very.” Beka replied honestly. 

Yuri leaned down. “Then show me.” He said. “Everything.”

“Everything is _a lot._ ” 

“I’m ready.” The painter stated. It instantly flashed in Otabek’s mind that he, himself, had told Yuri that same thing in the past. 

“I believe you.” The Kazakh said. _It’s me who’s not._

“Me too.” He smirked. “I believe in me, too.” Then he chuckled, giving Beka a peck on the lips. “I also believe in you.”

Yuri looked at him like everything was possible. In his face, a youthful hope that everything was fixable. Otabek knew Yura wasn’t naïve. Yura had seen the ugliness of living, the shards and shadows of moving on, of not quitting— of holding back the urge of breaking one’s own neck. If, after being torn and battered, he still believed, then it seemed possible. However, Otabek’s thoughts were still as contradicting as they’d always been. He always found an argument to counter all positive things. Maybe it was possible, for Yuri, who was stronger than him. Fiercer. More determined, more hard-working. Still, Beka was grateful that the painter had faith in him. Grateful, and sorry to disappoint.

“401.” The Kazakh said, unable to grin because of the direction his thoughts had taken. 

Yuri gazed at him, recognizing the apologetic look on his boyfriend’s eyes. He began leaving a trail of kisses down Otabek’s chest to his stomach, pulling the Kazakh’s shirt up from the sides, his hair covering his face when he unbuttoned Beka’s jeans. When Yura looked up again, he reached over to give Otabek a kiss, sticking a hand inside the man’s boxers. Beka breathed into the painter’s lips, his own hands reaching under Yuri’s shirt, feeling the prominence of the blonde’s ribs, how Yuri’s grip tightened around him when Otabek’s fingers grazed his sides, the parts that made the painter shiver. They knew each other too well. Everything they did, the way that they touched, where— everything they did was to make each other crazy. Beka ran his fingers up Yuri’s spine, relishing on how he curled up to it, like a cat, releasing Otabek only to allow the Kazakh to undress him. Thrilled that it was his turn, Beka wasted no time licking Yuri’s pierced nipple, nibbling and sucking, driven mad by the way Yura’s hand on the back of his neck kept him in place. 

“Turn around.” He said, looking up at Yuri, already missing the feeling of the metal on his tongue. 

Yuri didn’t hesitate, bending over the other side of the couch. “Is today the day you’ll finally spank me?”

“No.” Otabek instantly replied as if it were second nature. His legs were still between Yuri’s knees, so Beka grabbed the blonde by the thighs and pulled him closer to get in position. 

“Wow, Beka, you’re so strong— _sss.”_ The blonde hissed as Beka licked between his cheeks. “Fuck, you’ll start torturing me, won’t you— _ahh.”_ It was no secret Otabek loved giving rim jobs. It was also no secret that Yuri had little patience for foreplay. All Beka was willing to do on the matter was insert his tongue deeper and earn moans from his kitten. “Damn it, Beka, I’d rather you stick it in me dry than— _Jesus fuck, yeah, there—_ “ He pant, momentarily satisfied with one finger.

“Wasn’t I supposed to do it however I wanted?”

“I thought you’d wanna— _ah_ —pounce on me like a rabid dog.”

“Is that really…” Beka slowly slid another finger in. “How you see me?”

“No, you’re a different kind of sadistic f— _fuck—_ “

“But am hurting you?” 

“Like you’d ever—“

Otabek smirked to himself. He was pleased beyond belief that Yuri was aware. He decided to quit teasing and just give him what he wanted. Beka was very easily won over and he did not mind it one bit. He pulled his fingers out slowly, lowering his own pants, nervously excited seeing Yura turn his head to look from the side of his eyes. The painter’s face was flushed, his hair was in disarray, but he was other-worldly beautiful. Something out of a dream. He started leaving a trail of wet kisses up Yuri’s spine, bending over him to align. 

“Let’s take it easy today, okay?” He said, tasting the saltiness of Yuri’s skin. “We can do it how you want tomorrow.”

It had only been a week since they’d last had sex, but straining Yuri always made Otabek uneasy. 

“ _Fine_ , just stop fucking teasing me.” The blonde complained, tilting his head to allow Beka to kiss his neck. 

“Yura.” 

“What?” The blonde asked, trying to disguise his impatience, but failing.

_Cute._ Otabek chuckled. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He mumbled, grabbing Otabek’s hair, but huffing and becoming gentle in a split second, as if it he’d just realized that his boyfriend was rock hard against him but still going for that Sap of the Year award. Yuri nudged his cheek against the Kazakh’s nose. “I know.”

* * *

Beka picked up a sleeveless shirt for Yuri when he noticed the blonde had walked out bare chested, not bothering to put one on himself, since he wasn’t as sensitive to the cold as the painter was. Yura had certainly grown accustomed to always having the air-conditioner at its lowest temperature when around Otabek, not even allowing the man to find a middle ground, saying that it was easier for him to just put on socks or cover himself with a blanket than for Beka to never wear clothes at all. Even though it had been a long time since Yura had to constantly endure harsh winters, it was still different when the cold was artificial; when the outside was hellish, stuffy as soon as he would walk out the door. Otabek found his boyfriend giggling at the open fridge in the kitchen. Yura directed his lit up gaze towards the Kazakh as soon as he noticed the man’s presence.

“What’s this?” He asked, his voice sounding as refreshing as his laughter. 

Otabek was going to give an instant reply if it weren’t for the health-hazard Yuri Plisetsky had turned himself into. Shirtless, hair still wet, damp towel around his neck, AC at 50F _and_ standing in front of an _open_ fridge. “Hold on”, Beka managed to mutter before jogging back. 

“Beka!” He heard Yura shout in that amused tone. “Come on! Mind explaining?!”

The Kazakh found himself laughing lightly, making his way around the counter, taking the wet towel around Yuri’s neck and replacing it with a dry one he had found in one of his drawers. “It’s obviously for you.” He replied, taking Yuri’s free hand and placing the shirt in it. 

“I meant _this!”_ Yura clarified, motioning vaguely at all the processed food Otabek’s fridge was stocked with. 

“Me too.” The Kazakh clarified back, reaching for the towel around Yuri’s neck and using it to dry the painter’s blonde hair. 

“You don’t even eat half of this stuff!” 

“But you do.” 

“How am I supposed to eat all this?!” Yura asked, still giggling. He was so adorable.

“You’ll have time.” Beka told him, planting a kiss on the back of his boyfriend’s head. “Now will you, please, put the shirt on? You’ll catch a cold.”

With a chuckle, Yuri closed the fridge and turned around as he put the shirt on. As soon as he was covered, Otabek returned to drying his hair, now with the painter facing him. He was so pretty, especially with his eyes all round and bright like that, slightly reddened from the shampoo. Yuri was an unbeatable bombshell with his eyeliner on, but, when he was just Yura he was… oh, so pretty. Otabek could look at him forever with the same bliss. 

“So you bought enough food to feed me for a month.” It wasn’t a question. Yuri was handing him the facts. Otabek nodded with a hum. “You got me a toothbrush.” Beka nodded again. “How many condoms do you have here?” Otabek choked. 

Beka coughed lightly, trying to focus on the task at hand. He couldn’t look at Yuri anymore, though, staring at the blush on his cheeks, trying to ignore the smirk his boyfriend had on. “I don’t know.” The Kazakh replied, hoping it would be the end of it. 

But it wasn’t. “Take a guess.”

Otabek breathed in. They were no strangers to condoms; he didn’t know why he was so embarrassed. “No…” He started, unable to look past the blonde’s raised eyebrow. Beka cleared his throat “No unreasonable amount.”

Yuri licked his lips. _I know that look. You’re teasing me._ The painter crossed his arms around Otabek’s back. “Weren’t you the one who thought we’d break up in twenty minutes if we lived together?”

The Kazakh pressed his own lips, inexplicably shy by the smug on his boyfriend’s face, pulling the towel over Yuri’s head to cover his eyes as he continued to pretend to dry the blonde’s baby hairs. “I never said that.”

Yuri pinched his boyfriend’s sides playfully. “I don’t know, I got the vibe that you didn’t want to...“

“I never said that.” Otabek repeated as Yuri got the rise that he wanted out of him. 

“Then explain,” the blonde demanded, nails digging into the skin on the Kazakh’s sides. Otabek stopped pretending to dry his hair, just covering Yuri’s face, hands loose. “Your Yura is a little slow after being all fucked out like that. Why did you get me all this? Why is everything in doubles? Why did you assume I would be here tomorrow? Why do I have not one drawer, but three fucking drawers—“

Throwing the towel on the floor and with a protective arm to protect the blonde’s head, Otabek swiftly pinned Yuri to the fridge. “Yuri.” He voiced sternly, his boyfriend’s green eyes widening for a millisecond to being called his name. “Quiet down.”

Yura’s lips parted, taking the cues of the game, his eyes narrowing slightly. He knew all that he needed to do. The blonde made to step forward, Otabek stretching his own arm to allow him the space. “What’s the need to be so rough with me? I was just asking some very important questions—“ He spoke, barely masking the upwards curl on one sides of his lips.

Pulling him in tightly by the waist, Otabek stepped forward, his arms protecting the clash of Yuri’s back to the door with a thump. They kissed deeply, in a scene of intensity, the climax of their game. _I get what you were doing. You knew I wanted you here. You wanted me to know it, too._ Yura’s lips were cold and his breath was minty fresh when they first tasted each other after showering, but their temperatures quickly became the same. Warm. The flavor of endless desire flowing in their mouths. Those were two people who had just been having sex. They were too intense. They had an incredible need for each other that didn’t manifest itself in clinginess, so it was always there, always easy to channel when they wanted to. Beka felt the coldness of Yuri’s fingertips on his neck, deepening their kiss until they were breathless. The Kazakh pulled away with a bite on his boyfriend’s bottom lip, his grip tightening around Yura's waist.

“Will you not be here tomorrow?” He asked.

Yura grinned, that glint of innocence appearing on his face, making him look even younger. “No, I will.” He replied, leaving a chaste kiss on Otabek’s cheek, as though his job was done. “Now let’s make some greasy-ass dinner.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Whoever is still here, thanks for reading :)


End file.
